


Star Wars: Hierarchy

by EverandeverGreen



Category: Joker - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Horror, Star Wars Batman, Star Wars Joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverandeverGreen/pseuds/EverandeverGreen
Summary: Trouble is brewing deep down the levels of the planet Coruscant. Epsom—a drug that can turn its users into mindless, bloodthirsty Tweakers is at the center of it all. Agent Turuy of the Imperial Security Bureau’s Drug Control Unit returns from the depths under the control of a powerfully manipulative rebel: A singer named General Guffaw, whose jokes have bloody punchlines.
Relationships: Spenc Orbar/Rosita Turuy
Kudos: 2





	1. Kill a Stormtrooper

Nothing could compare to the heat of the spotlight. General Guffaw basked in its glow, her red, plastoid-gloved hands clutching her mic in white-knuckled desperation. “LET’S DO IT TONIGHT!” She screeched into it, jabbing a finger at them all, the audience, which from her vantage point high above on a levitating platform, looked like crawling insects—small and insignificant and yet as essential as the ground beneath her feet.

The band knew their cue; General Guffaw took the mic off its stand and began the next song. It was a fan favourite, the one they were all talking about, the one which got her helm-covered face plastered on wanted signs everywhere—from the top to the very bowels of the planet Coruscant.

“Kill a kill a kill a killer-killer Stormtrooper.” Her melodic croon was distorted behind the mouthpiece of her red plastoid helmet. “Kill a kill a kill a killer-killer Stormtrooper. Life is nothing without the take, fist and flames a way to end the hate.”

General Guffaw repeated this refrain before the first verse began. She twisted and gyrated her body to the whirs of the music.

“Nothing they said would take you away from the path, weapon in hand, you return from the bloodbath.” She could feel them singing along with her, fuelling her, and she sang on. “Run into the keep and sleep for the night, then after a meal, it’s time to get back and fight—Hearken to me from way across the field, orders I yell give hope, a ploy, and a shield. Now back on your feet; surrender is not on your mind. Instead, revenge, the spoils, and the gifts we will find.”

Only the stars knew how she ended up on her knees, pleading with the audience with her head thrown back and mic poised downward, as if offering herself fruit.

“Kill a kill a kill a killer-killer Stormtrooper…” General Guffaw was an agent of drama, she stood and strutted over to where there were fans embedded into the front of the stage, her red cape billowed behind her. They needed to understand what she was urging them to do. They had to feel the song the way she did.

“Cry your tears. We’re done. The fear has now passed. The man, the throne, the lies, he wears a mask. We’ll take from him what they’ve taken from us. Our lives, our will, our fill, but mostly our trust. And once we’ve won lay a kiss on my brow, I’m dead, I’m gone, no more use for me now. But for this final task it will take one thing. But for our final dance we must now all sing—"

Together they sang the chorus which so angered the Imperials. Six ISB agents: slaughtered and strung up to flutter in a stale breeze, like bloody banners. That was what awaited any Imperial loyalist who dared tread lower than Level 1000. And after that last… incident, when the ISB had flown in a rabble of Stormtroopers to help them quell the unrest, General Guffaw’s Droogs had melted their white plastoid uniforms under a hailstorm of laser and left them in piles to rot.

“Kill a kill a kill a killer-killer Stormtrooper. Kill a kill a kill a killer-killer Stormtrooper. Life is nothing without the take, fist and flames a way to end the hate,” until the music reached its crescendo, then with her fist up and hip cocked to the side, she led them over the bridge in a gnarled growl.

“Let’s push them back, we can use battle cries, let them fall back, we’re their demise!”

They were wild before her, their bodies thrusting and rocking into each other in a mad, hazy orgy of movement as her band continued to play.

There was only one word for it: Chaos. And it was utterly delicious to behold.


	2. You Never Know Who

Under the Director and Deputy Director's leadership, the Drug Control Unit’s Operation Division was made up of Agent and Special Agent ranks. You were on top, or you were on the bottom. You were exceptional, or you were—

Rosita’s hands balled into fists over the keyboard of her computer. “Ordinary,” she muttered to the audience that was her screen. Her eyes moved to scan the bureau, taking in her fellow agents. Some were banging on keyboards, while others questioned witnesses who sat twitching before them, coming down off whatever poison of their choice. The majority yelled into their comlinks, trying to drown out the very noise they were contributing towards.

Her attention fell on Special Agent Glazeer, who judging by the curve to her spine, was very intentionally cocking out her ass. For whom? Rosita could only assume the entirety of COMPNOR. Glazeer was chatting away with Special Agent Sparks at his desk.

Like most everyone else, Glazeer confused Sparks’s beauty for competence. Special Agent Sparks. Rosita snorted.

They had started at the Unit within days of each other, and yet somehow Sparks had been upgraded while she had not. Sparks did have some talent. They had worked together from time to time. She could even count on him for advice. But for Sparks to be promoted before she was?

It made absolutely no sense.

Not many at the Unit could boast of having attended the Royal Imperial Academy as she could. And not only had she graduated from this most prestigious establishment, but she had excelled. Could Sparks gum a line of Spice and tell you what variant it was? No! Was Sparks willing to bash the windpipe of an unruly perp to save the lives of ordinary citizens or uphold the Empire’s values? Not often enough. Unlike her: **_Agent Turuy,_** she had lost count of the perps she had—for lack of a better word—encouraged and cases she had helped close from having used such encouragement. And after all of that hard work, she had still found the time to bag herself an Orbar. She had allowed him to marry her, and in doing so, was considered one of the elites.

Again, it made no sense for her to be a mere Agent. Rosita’s personal comm buzzed against the desk; it could be felt rather than heard over the room's noise. She didn’t have to turn it over to see the word ‘Dad’ on its strip of a screen. Rosita picked it up hesitantly and said, “Yes,” monotonously into it.

“Hello to you too, darling.”

“Dad.”

“Your one and only,” he replied, and she could picture the grim line that served as his smile these days and the short needles of grey stubble on his chin.

Her lips became a grim line of their own, and they compressed harder as he continued to speak.

“You know I hate to have to ask this of you. Every time I ask this of you.”

They each sighed loudly in unison, and she imagined his hands, like hers, found his face to rub away the frown between his brows.

“It’s mom,” he began. “She’s, well, she’s out, and, you know how hard that is on her and, well, on me.”

Rosita said nothing. Her eyes followed Special Agent Sparks and Glazeer as they head out for the evening. Gone for drinks and all the greatness that came with it.

“She really needs more, kid. You have to help.”

“We’re killing her.”

“And she’ll die without it. She’s passed the point of no return.”

It was true. There were all kinds of Spice making rounds through the galaxy, some that twisted you up so thoroughly from the inside that your body couldn’t function without any, at least not without Scarn to help wean you off first. And if you were as bad of an addict as her mother was, there were weaker strains of the more potent Spice variants that made quitting non-lethal. But using Scarnotics, even if it was just to curb a worse addiction, was considered illegal now. The Empire didn’t abide weakness. By law, you shouldn’t have touched the drug to begin with, let alone get addicted to it.

As far as Emperor Palpatine was concerned, you either quit, you die, or you go away to some prison to work off your addiction.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rosita promised with a stiff nod of her head.

Her father sighed in relief, and she knew why. ‘ _I’ll see what I can do,’_ was what she said each and every time he asked her to go into the crib and steal evidence for her mother, and each and every time she had delivered the goods.

Today would be no different. Rosita pulled files up on her computer and began to work; it would have to appear that she was working late.


End file.
